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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29847327">The Wedding of the Century</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/pseuds/silvercolour'>silvercolour</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Asexual Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fae AU, Fae Martin, Fake Marriage, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, Human Jon, In which the author attempts not to also make this a daemon AU, M/M, jon is ace, names have power, or more like a real marriage but there weren’t supposed to be feelings, success tbd, the Admiral is Jon’s familiar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:02:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29847327</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercolour/pseuds/silvercolour</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time Jon thought the saying went ‘curiosity killed the cat’. These days he knows it's something more along the lines of ‘do not follow your cat into the forest he may lead you to places you cannot get out of’. Places like the Fae, for one.</p><p>In which Jon has gotten himself and the Admiral trapped by the Fae, Martin is a Fae not looking forward to his wedding, and the Admiral has decided he likes Martin.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Silver's tma fantasy AUs</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/aibari/gifts">aibari</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>for the lovely Aibari, who had too many good prompts not to write a fic for! I hope you don’t mind me combining Tam Lin AU and fake/secret dating into Fae AU+fake marriage (kind of, the marriage will be real)(it’s to escape a different marriage–it’s complicated)</p><p>Names have power here, and meaning, and Jonny deciding to name his main character after himself isn’t going to stop me from using those meanings if I can.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Once upon a time Jon thought the saying went ‘curiosity killed the cat’. These days he knows it's something more along the lines of ‘do not follow your cat into the forest he may lead you to places you cannot get out of’. Places like the Fae, for one.</p><p>Jon sighs and attempts to gently dislodge the Admiral from his lap. The Admiral only purrs and remains steadfastly asleep. It’s not the cat’s fault, of course. He didn’t have to follow the Admiral. And certainly the Admiral followed him through the opening in the strange, gate-shaped tree, grown all wonky and entwined into its neighbour. Naturally grown, he thought at the time. These days he’s not so sure where natural ends and magical begins. Elias insists they’re the same, but Jon doesn’t quite believe that either. Just because magic comes naturally to some, does not make it natural. He thinks, anyway. And now that he’s stuck he’s got all the time in the world to research that question.</p><p>Because besides ‘do not follow your cat into the Fae', there is one other important thing Jon now knows that he hadn’t been told before. Or he had been told of it, he supposes, but if he’s to believe every word of every fairy tale out there he’ll never get any proper research done. But one thing is true, beyond a shadow of a doubt: ‘never tell a Faerie your Name’.</p><p>It’s too late, of course. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When Jon stepped through the tree-gate he came into a clearing. The trees here seemed older, weathered from many, many more years than any other trees he’d ever seen, yet somehow they seemed twice as alive. The air itself thrummed with their whispered breaths of rustling leaves. In their center stood a man–he was in the center of the clearing as well as at the center of the trees’ attention, it seemed.</p><p>The fae was taller than any human Jon had ever seen, and lean, and despite the trees’ extraordinary height this being seemed like it could tower over them, if only in spirit. Somehow this creature inspired an awe in Jon, or perhaps a fear, so when it asked without opening its mouth: “Who are you, to enter my lands uninvited?”  Jon had done the only thing he could think of: the polite thing. </p><p>He’d introduced himself. </p><p>“Jonathan Sims,” the being said in a voice like sudden thunder. “A gift, indeed.” And the thunder in that voice extended its claws into Jon’s very bones and soul. His heart skipped a beat, then continued; the rhythm of those beats unchanged yet no longer familiar. When he spoke again the voice seemed almost-human, no longer thunderous, but now smooth and cold as silk: “You may call me ‘your majesty’, as I am King in these lands,” a pause, and the trees held their breath, watching and waiting for what might follow. “Or you may call me… Elias. That would be a fine name, I think. A name to match yours, dear Jonathan.” The being –Elias– smiled a too-wide smile, yet somehow it was the sound of his own name that sent shivers up Jon’s spine.</p><p>“Indeed, you must call me Elias,” Elias continued, and Jon found he could no longer think of him as anything other. “After all, we’ll be working closely together, my Archivist; we shall be using first names.” Jon didn’t think that Elias’ first name was actually Elias, but his mind utterly refused to think of any other phrase for him.</p><p>“Elias,” Jon repeated, unsettled at his own calm tone. Elias’ smile grew even wider and wilder. “Can I– may I ask what you mean with ‘<em>your</em> archivist’?”</p><p>“Of course you may, dear Archivist. You may ask any question you want. I may even answer some of them.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Elias had answered his questions, and quite a lot of them, even.</p><p>Annoyingly, the fae- man- king had a habit of giving different answers to the same question. These dodgy answers most often seemed to occur when Jon asked what his role in the kingdom was. When asked why Elias needed an Archivist the answers had been because he thought it’d be fun, because it seemed important that the kingdom have an archivist (not an archive, the archives already existed when Jon arrived at the palace), and also because knowledge was important of course, dear Jonathan.</p><p>Jon usually stopped asking when Elias started using his name. It gave him a bad feeling every time Elias used it– like being watched, or like a stranger listening to his own name.</p><p>What he had answered mostly honestly (Jon thought) were the factual questions: where Jon would be working(the palace archives), where they were (Elias’ lands, in the Fae, which was true, if vague), and, asked hesitantly, where he would be staying while he worked here. It turned out that the archives had an adjacent suite of rooms for the Archivist, a sitting room and separate bedroom, and even a bathroom bigger than Jon’s English bathroom, complete with an actual bath and somehow –magically, he was assured– running water. </p><p>When Elias first brought him there, the Admiral had already been in the room, asleep in the middle of a giant bed clearly meant for people of a taller height than Jon. “Do keep an eye on your familiar, dear Archivist,” over the course of a single... afternoon? Had it really only been only a few hours? Jon had decided that he did not like being addressed as “Archivist”.</p><p>“My... familiar,” Jon didn’t think to phrase it as a question, surprised to see the Admiral already here safely, and confused that he hadn’t missed the cat's absence. How had he not noticed that? Surely he wasn’t that distracted.</p><p>“Indeed– or your guide, if you prefer,” on the bed, the Admiral opened one sleepy eye, and then both, flattening his ears back and staring unblinkingly at Elias. “He’ll be around to make sure you don’t wander into any other places you’re not supposed to be. Won’t you, young man?” Elias directed that last part at the Admiral. The Admiral growled in return and attempted to retreat further into the blankets without actually moving. “Hardly polite, but perhaps not unwarranted,” was Elias’ reply to that. He turned on his heel, and was already halfway out the door when he thought to say: “We’ll continue the tour tomorrow, dear Archivist. Make sure to get enough sleep.”</p><p>As the door closed behind him Jon had to fight a yawn, even though he’d wanted to say that he wasn’t a child, thank you very much, and didn’t need to be reminded to sleep. As soon as the door closed behind Elias, the Admiral rushed to Jon. Cat in his arms, Jon explored the rooms a second time, finding a tray of cold foodstuffs waiting on a side table, and a kettle of tea boiling over the sitting room fire.</p><p>Gently putting down the Admiral on one of the armchairs Jon made himself tea. When he sat down in the other armchair the Admiral abandoned his own seat, and jumped onto Jon’s lap instead, crawling under Jon’s arm and snuggling close, almost making him spill his tea.</p><p>“Oh Admiral, what have we walked into?” Jon asked out loud, staring into the fire for a long time.</p><p>The Admiral had no answers for him.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ON NAMES: <br/>Martin: of Mars(the Roman god), war-like<br/>Jonathan: “god’s gift”<br/>Elias: “the Lord is (my) God”</p><p>NEXT CHAPTER: We find out what Jon has been up to since getting stuck in the Fae!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Jon and Martin meet, and we learn a little bit about the titular wedding.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Between organising the chaotic archives Jon has been researching. The librarians a few floors up know him well by now, and had finally stopped accusing him of stealing texts for the archives. Jon has been researching magic– an attempt both to understand this new world around him, and to try and find a way out, a way home. There is precious little information on the subject, and what he’s found so far hasn’t been useful. Or hopeful, for that matter. Dying appears to be an option to “leave”, which to Jon’s mind isn’t an option at all. If he can’t go home he might as well stay in this magical land– it isn’t home, but as long as he’s alive there is a chance that he could one day go home again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Until then, the Archives are his home-away-from-home. Most days Jon is surprised to find anyone in the archives at all. Even now, with the influx of guests for the midsummer festival, the archives are usually avoided. This is his domain, his kingdom-within-the-kingdom, and of the few who care enough to attempt to enter the archives, even fewer care to disturb the careful peace of the Archivist. Except that at this moment he can definitely hear someone crying deep in the stacks and shelves of the archives.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Admiral has apparently heard it too, as he jumps from his desk-pillow to the floor, and saunters down the shelves to investigate. The desk-pillow (a throw pillow from his sitting room) is Jon’s solution to always being followed by the Admiral. Before he thought to find the Admiral his own seat the cat had insisted on sitting on Jon’s lap, or his papers, or sometimes even both. The pillow doesn’t always work, but most days it keeps his familiar happy, Jon thinks. The Admiral looks back, and Jon grudgingly gets up to follow, abandoning the worm-filled story he’d been reading, about creatures that sing of home, and belonging. Jon gestures at the brazier, and a bright wisp of light separates itself, and precedes him into the stacks, lighting his way.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s one of the few bits of magic he’s picked up, though Elias insists he’ll find more magic if he spends enough time in the Fae. To Jon it already feels like he’s been here forever. He doesn’t want to think about how long it might take for him to pick up anything even remotely like the powerful magic he’s seen fae folk throw around like it’s nothing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jon only knows he must have been here for a long time because his clothes have worn thin. The jumper and shoes he wore the day he stepped through the tree-gate have holes in them, the shirt he’d worn underneath has gone soft with wear. Elias has supplied him with “proper clothing” from the very first day, even though Jon had refused to wear it until his old clothes had reached their current state of disrepair. Even so, he cannot bring himself to throw them away, even when he now dresses like someone who wouldn’t stand out in the Lord of the Rings. Except less cool, and with fewer weapons, if he’s honest with himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One of the other bits of magic is that he always knows where the Admiral is. He rarely uses this trick, as the Admiral doesn’t leave his side very often. On a few occasions it has been useful while lost deep in the Archives to be able to find his way back to the Admiral, peacefully asleep on top of Jon’s paperwork.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Jon catches up with the Admiral, they are several decades deep in the archives, and only a few steps away from one of the reading nooks. Why the archives really need those Jon isn’t sure. He suspects his archives may have once been the library’s original location, before the trees outside darkened the windows and forced the library to move to a more light-filled floor. Around the corner, where he knows the little reading nook to be, someone has been crying. The sounds have gotten softer in the time it has taken Jon and the Admiral to find this place, but haven’t stopped completely.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As soon as Jon has caught up, little wisp of light now resting on his shoulder, the Admiral rounds the corner. Jon stands still, torn between following his cat and staying anonymous and safe where he is.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">From behind the shelves comes a man’s voice, clearly choked with tears, even as he tries to send cheerful: “Hello kitty, how did you get in– Oh, hello– Okay, if you’re sure about that.” Jon doesn’t need to see what is happening to be able to tell that the Admiral has jumped into this stranger’s lap. Which isn’t something the Admiral does. Ever. Except with Jon. Jon gathers his courage and steps around the corner, a frown on his face, ready to demand what this stranger is doing in his archives.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What he sees there is a man –a Fae, Jon mentally corrects himself– face blotchy and tears still shining in his eyes. Just as he steps into the little circle of light, the man combs a hand through the Admiral’s fur, and it feels like a warm bath, or perhaps gentle electric current passing along Jon’s back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s decidedly not unpleasant, except that it is very much new for Jon, a seemingly deeper connection with the Admiral than the originally thought he had. The shock at this knowledge causes his question to come out harsher than he intended: “What, exactly, are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man takes one look at Jon, looks back at the Admiral, his hands still on his fur, and then jumps up as though he’s been burned, raising his hands and immediately hitting his head on the low alcove of the reading nook. The Admiral jumps away indignantly, and regroups behind Jon’s legs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Fae is long, which presumably means he’s some member of one of the visiting courts. Fae royalty always seem to be taller than others, though Jon has yet to figure out where the cause and effect lie in that. Like all fae, this man’s movements are unnaturally fluid and graceful. Unlike most he seems to be built wide, as well as tall.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I– I was– you must be, the Archivist?” The man stumbles, rubbing his head where it hit the ceiling. Jon offers a tiny nod, crossing his arms as well. Still waiting for an answer, his pose says, without him having to say the words. He’s found that such things are usually more effective at getting answers from the Fae.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know he was your familiar– in fact I didn’t even know the Archvist here had a familiar, but then people say a lot of things about you that may not be true...” The sentence trails of, the man seemingly only now realising what he’s saying. They stand there for several long moments, as a silence that Jon refuses to call awkward stretches between them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah– I’m sorry,” he’s apologizing a lot, Jon thinks, trying to maintain a stern look. “Where are my manners? I’m Martin, of the Winter court. Prince Martin, I suppose, “He doesn’t sound particularly happy with that fact. “My apologies for touching you familiar without your permission, Archivist.” And then the man just looks at him, hopeful, puppydog eyes, asking to be forgiven, to not be evicted from the archives, hoping– Jon isn’t even sure what.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am–“ Jon catches himself. No Fae has ever introduced themselves this honestly. Which means it can’t be true– not completely, at least. “I’m surprised to hear one such as yourself introduce themselves by name, your highness,” he settles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, I suppose that’s true,” this Martin says, now rubbing his head more out of bashfulness than from pain. “It’s <em>a</em> name– but it’s a name I’ve been using for a long time. It’s definitely one of my names, and one I consider my own,” a small smile spreads across the man’s face, and for a fleeting moment Jon thinks that this man alone could light up the darkest nights of winter. Then the thought is gone, as Martin continues: “And I would be honoured if you would use that name, Archivist.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jon is about to say he’s honoured, but that doesn’t answer his question, when Martin says, more to himself than to Jon: “It’s not like I’ll be a prince for much longer, anyway.” The smile melts of his face as he says it, and Jon finds himself inexplicably missing its warmth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Martin?” Jon tries the name like an unfamiliar food, and he finds he likes the way it tastes, the way it sounds. He’d been meaning to ask something more, to ask what Martin meant, but before he can something seems to break inside Martin, and the whole story floods out of him as he falls back into his seat, slumping forward.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I though everyone would have heard by now,” Martin heaves a deep breath, fighting down tears. “I am to marry. I am the wedding-sacrifice this midsummer, the prince in the <em>honourable</em>,”–he bites out the word–“position to be married at midsummer, symbolising good fortune to all for the next century. Traditionally it’s supposed to be a happy marriage, to bring more luck, you see. These days it’s more about the politics involved. So I am to be married to whoever the Lonely Isles see fit to send to this Midsummer Feast, and just...” he throws his hands into the air, indignation stealing his words. “Just live with that, I guess? They sure didn’t ask my opinion, and they’re sure not about to change their plans because I don’t want to marry someone I’ve never met, gods forbid!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martin’s hands fall back into his lap, all his energy now gone. “Which is why I’m here, to answer your original question, Archivist. I was hoping –foolishly, I’m sure– to find a way out of this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before he can stop to think about what he’s doing, or why he might be doing it, Jon steps closer, takes Martin’s hands, and tugs him out of his slumped position and up to his feet. “I’ll help you. We’ll find you a way out of this,” Jon hears a conviction in his voice he decidedly does not feel, but there’s no need to tell Martin that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Martin’s eyes are comically round as he looks down at Jon, and the hands holding his own. “I cannot ask you to risk to yourself like that, Archivist–“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.” Jon almost barks the word, then checks himself. He sees something sad and knowing cross Martin’s eyes in that briefest of quiet moments, and it breaks his heart a little, in ways he never expected to feel, least of all here in the Fae. More gently, he continues: “I know what it’s like to be stuck somewhere– which is why I intend to help you.” He pauses, and Martin starts to speak, no doubt to thank him, or to refuse his aid for putting Jon in a dangerous situation. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before he can change his mind, Jon rushes to say one more thing: “And please, stop calling me Archivist. I’m Jon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>No worries about Martin marrying into the Lonely, this story will definitely be Jonmartin, and also will definitely have a happy ending, just like the tags say!<br/>Look for the next chapter in a little over a week, as I’m about to get distracted by Fantasy Week^^</p><p>NEXT CHAPTER: the search begins, we learn more about the wedding and the festival, and Jon and Martin get to know each other!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please leave a comment and let me know what you think, I love hearing from you!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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